The Room by tetecruz
by ControlPossessSeduceContest
Summary: The walls on this room will slowly weaken your powers, and set you free on a sensory overloaded journey through your deepest desires. But who controls it? Contest entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest


**Contest entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest**

 **Title:** The Room

 **Rating:** M

 **Summary:** The walls on this room will slowly weaken your powers, and set you free on a sensory overloaded journey through your deepest desires. But who controls it?Contest entry for the Control. Possess. Seduce. Contest

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own any publicly recognizable characters herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 **THE ROOM**

 **Day 1**

The morning sun slanted through the windshield, its incessant and bright rays pointed like sharp knives, turning what could've been a wonderful day into an unsettling sense of judgment in the pit of her stomach. Bella's eyes flickered against its brilliance, her face contorted in a mixture of discomfort and concentration, trying to handle the steering wheel and glance at a small piece of paper at the same time. Discarding the scribbled address on her lap, she ducked her head slightly to avoid the unpleasant glare of the sun, finally spotting an empty space on the far left side in the parking lot.

Once parked, she wouldn't spend much time stalling the inevitable with a quick touch up on the bare minimum make-up she wore for this, or even linger with a new round of doubts and self-assurances. She quickly pushed herself off the car, rounded it in busy steps and pulled out from the passenger seat a brown-leather duffel bag. Her face bore the expression of one who was moments away from taking a major final test or just about to get its results, where a deceptive blankness tries to deliver a sense of conviction, masking what she couldn't quite fool if someone were to now listen the way her heart hammered in her chest, or how subtly she had to rub away the sweat from her hands against her black jeans.

There's one tiny moment where Bella allowed herself to stop and sigh her hesitation; something that from an outward perspective could've been perceived as her trying to get her bearings on this strange place, as her eyes moved aimlessly around the lot until fixating on a specific building behind her. But the history on her laptop could've easily told anyone just how long she had been playing around on Google Maps, studying every possible route she could've taken to get from her apartment to this nondescript warehouse, a place she knew she would be expected at 8:30 AM on this particular Sunday morning.

With still no glimpse of a second thought she pushed herself forward, high boots clicking on the concrete sidewalk that led her way to a set of sliding doors; her head miles away on the starting point of this event, when an almost overlooked letter fell from her mailbox and into her hands three weeks ago. One she almost had thrown away with the advertising leaflets, were it not for her written name done in perfect cursive and a clear stamp from Washington State University.

A beautiful blonde met her on the other side of those glass doors in what could've passed as any doctor's office reception area, her shiny short bob almost angel-like due to the fake bright lights that shone upon her. Bella made her way to her desk, introduced herself and promptly waited for the other woman's recognition. She would describe in a later moment how this all felt surreal, like an out of body experience. How everything in the receptionist's demeanor and looks seemed to reek of something overly polished, from her perfect set of white teeth down to her manners, and how even the sweetness of her words alluded to an annoying sense of comfortable belonging to this place and this particular role she was given. She was clearly in her element, but this glowing aura of effortless deportment only grated more on Bella's already frayed nerves, so in consequence she made herself shut down and listlessly followed on the blonde's orientations.

Papers were handed back and forth, words she should've read thoroughly but were passed through diagonally instead. The attention wasn't neglected by the receptionist though, and with a small smile and apologetic, "I'm sorry. It's the standard procedure," her duffel bag and its contents were examined with the fastidiousness of a TSA security officer. She was shown next to a small locker room where she was instructed to leave all the forbidden objects behind, and that with no small amount of trepidation, Bella saw herself handing her last possible connection with the outside world.

An immediate feeling of bareness seemed to fall upon her when her smartphone found its metal prison, but as she retreated her steps back to the waiting area and was politely instructed to take a seat and wait for further instructions, she couldn't deny the sense of liberation that kept growing on her with the prospect of being finally, at once, in complete and total silence. But as her eyes turned and fixed themselves into a sturdy looking white door she hadn't yet gone through, she finally acknowledged the daunting impression of unpreparedness she felt for what was about to take place.

Not even in her wildest dreams would she have guessed the contents of that letter, but a particularly wearying day at work at the end of an even more tiring week made Bella that much more susceptible to read through the formal invitation of one Dr. Banner, some kind of Principal Investigator for the University's Psychology Department, and unthinkably accept his offer. And because this was no vacation and she certainly wasn't checking into some kind of weird hotel, she, Isabella Marie Swan, was now about to be submitted to a week-long trial inside a closed bedroom. If the outside world wasn't a fucked up enough place for judging its people... No way, because she so happened to be the current subject for an even more excruciating analysis on every single move she would make for the coming days, and under the constant, unseeable, judging eye of some academic twat who thought she'd be ideal for this.

If that thought wasn't preposterous or depressing enough, the shrill ring of the front desk's phone and the short conversation which followed, made Bella that much more aware of how much she was now truly dreading what was about to start. But when she met the receptionist's regarding eyes, Bella's nerves didn't betray her and her blank mask was still in place. With polished words that somehow still irked her, she accepted her fate and took hold of her duffel bag, finally walking those few steps towards the white door.

Her hand on the golden-leafed doorknob and a lead weight tumbling in her stomach, she faintly heard the blonde's last words before stepping inside the room.

"Dr. E will get to you in a moment, Miss Swan. Have a wonderful time."

Bella couldn't help the sarcastic snigger which followed the blonde's sickeningly sweet words, as she walked forward and found herself inside what immediately felt like a typical hotel bedroom – a room which felt almost twice as big as her cozy first apartment out of college. Her eyes swept around it, but the sudden, soft pop of the swaying door as it shut, followed by the deafening and unmistakable sound of an automated lock being activated, made her straighten her back in one fell swoop. A long breath expelled from her lips afterwards. Only she didn't know yet if it was in relief or resignation.

 **\- TR -**

A wall of machines and monitors came to life as the motion detectors sensed the first stirrings of movement inside the room. Rocking his ergonomic office chair from side to side in a leisurely rhythm, Dr. Edward Cullen watched with a sense of almost eagerness in his eyes as his new subject came on the screen in full view, with sure footsteps that were immediately betrayed by those big brown eyes that couldn't quite conceal the apprehension which grew inside her.

He was certain her bravery was nothing but a façade now; her stubborn streak which refused to allow others to see her vulnerable side. But he also knew that soon those walls would be crumbling down like a wobbly stack of cards displayed in a pyramid, exposing every single detail, every little flaw, every minuscule thought she was now fighting so hard to keep guarded. For him, this was nothing but a waiting game. And as he saw her startle with the closing door, yes, Edward couldn't deny the thrill which ran through his veins like static electricity.

Squashing down the part of him screaming out his present unethical conduct, for a moment Edward let his thoughts run wild and carelessly with a feeling of wicked accomplishment, at seeing his prey so fully exposed in front of him. It certainly didn't hurt having Dr. Banner so far removed from this specific trial, as the old fart had been spending most of his days schmoozing, wining and dining his research donors. Lit only by the big screen he faced, Edward pushed himself forward and scrolled through the dials, zooming in on her as she stood still and shy by the front door, her eyes indecisive as they roamed around the bedroom.

He knew he should be jotting down the first impressions of her initial reactions upon her entrance, but something kept him rooted to that chair, glued to that screen. Previous experience taught Edward no one's reaction was the same. Where some went straight for the obvious and tried to spot every camera inside the room and learn their nonexistent blindspots, and others felt immediately compelled to check the bed for its firmness or the bathroom for its cleanliness; there were others who, faced with the daunting knowledge of being watched, kept grounded to the very same spot for long periods of time, too afraid to give away even the smallest of flinches. But that wasn't the case with Isabella Swan.

It wasn't by chance they had aptly named this part of the trial Adaptation Phase. Her facial expressions might be showing some sort of hesitation, but it wasn't born out of a basic instinct like fear. No, she didn't trust her environment yet. She was too wary of its multiple eyes and staged decor to allow herself some sense of comfortable display. Isabella might've been a novice to this kind of setting, but she wouldn't be letting go of her defenses that easily. Of that, Edward was positive.

With bright fascination in his hungry green eyes, he watched as she thawed out of her statue-like position and started to move, her duffel bag sliding off her shoulder and discarded in a haphazard gesture to the carpeted floor. She walked ever so slowly to his wall, right in front a set of drawers and a wide vanity mirror. But he wasn't that fazed by her sudden, unknown proximity to him, and instead of changing his screen view to the appropriate camera, Edward kicked his legs back and stood up from his chair, moving with greedy, predatory steps toward the one-way mirror.

Folding his arms across his chest, his eyes narrowed as he took her in. Her petite form, the delicate features of her doll-shaped face and the small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her small nose all seemed to highlight her waifish looks. _She's a beauty for sure_ , he thought. Edward saw her own brown eyes squinting with suspicion as she faced the mirror, probably already deducing its double intention; whether it was from one too many detective shows watched or rather from being a police officer's daughter, he didn't know. But he couldn't help the crooked smile which formed on his obscured features.

Ready to start the show, he stepped back and took hold of his wireless headphones, sliding them over his head and adjusting the attached microphone closer to his mouth. Taking a seat on his chair again, he changed the camera view, just in time to watch as her hand raised to touch the mirror.

"Oh, my little lamb," he whispered with an affectionate smile.

Unfortunately, Isabella Swan would never know how detrimental he had been for her current situation, because Edward might've once watched her from afar, too chicken shit to make his move. But now here, in his domain, she'd finally be his – and only his – to play with.

 **\- TR -**

"Good morning, Isabella."

A startled yelp broke through the room, with Bella instinctively jumping backwards and landing clumsily on her ass on the bed, her wild eyes scanning her surroundings.

"Fuck! Where–"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," the male voice cut through before she could register that no one was really physically inside the room with her. "I'm Dr.E, Dr. Banner's associate in the Psychology Lab. I'll be running this trial with you for the next few days."

"It's okay," she mumbled, feeling her cheeks hot with embarrassment.

Although her brain couldn't have disagreed more because it's most certainly not okay to scare someone like this. Not even if you had a voice as smooth and rich as sin itself. A voice which sounded much younger than she'd been expecting. But he kept on with no further introductions and only following with business-like words, all steel and blunt and no place for comic relief.

"As I'm now also your only means of communication with the outside, I'll ask you to direct any form of verbal speech to me. If for any reason you're not feeling well or just wish to pose a pertinent question – I repeat, direct it to me. For your own safety and care, don't try to hide your concerns. Am I clear, Isabella?"

She's not sure if he heard the small waver on her mousy little "yes," for he certainly didn't want to waste time with other words from her.

"Great. First, let me start by thanking you for your collaboration. I've been reading through your file, and it seems it will be the first time you're doing something like this. Please don't let that fact overwhelm you. I assure you this will be conducted with the utmost professionalism and confidentiality.

"As you know by now, this clinical trial aims to find patterns in individual behavior within the four walls of a bedroom. For more accurate results, this room was modified to resemble the average bedroom of an American single female, full-time worker within the age group of 25-34. Also, the room benefits from all the usual features you'll find in a standard home, which will guarantee your own comfort and safety for the duration of this experience. Such amenities include a completely furnished ensuite with a queen size bed and bedside table, a chest of drawers and cupboard area, including a mini fridge and a small pantry with your afore chosen snacks and beverages, as well as a sitting area with an upholstered armchair and an LCD. Facing the bed, there's a small but functional bathroom, equipped with lavatory, toilet and private shower stall. Along with all the necessary light fixtures allowed for this trial, this room is properly climatized and will be at all times ventilated… but if deemed to reason, and for experimental purposes, your environment can and _will_ be manipulated without your previous knowledge. Are you following me, Isabella?"

Feeling strangely chastened by his brusque and apathetic demeanor, she merely nodded.

"Alright then. I'll abridge the following rules, as you've already gone through most of them in your contract as well as with Kate, our receptionist. So, let's see... You're not allowed to use any device of communication or entertainment but for those at your current disposal. You cannot smoke, drink alcohol or use any kind of recreational drugs. You are not allowed to endanger or harm yourself, and _if_ perceived as intentional, it can be viewed as a direct violation of the rules, therefore providing enough reason to immediately terminate your contract without any form of previously agreed upon gratification…"

As he kept citing the rules, his voice steady but still demanding, Isabella wondered, and not for the first time since the initial decision, if she could claim some sort of temporary insanity as the reason she now found herself here in this weird place, about to be submitted to God knows what and under the watchful attention of a totally unknown person.

She could enumerate every single point in her long and thorough list of pros and cons, all of them written down on a notebook that sat right beside her bed along with two pens, black and red respectively. She knew which one she'd still find lidless if she'd been stepping now in her room, the slanted red plastic ironically aimed to a nervous, single bubble drawn around the ultimate and more urgent reason. Her mind still faintly echoed the steel of those words when they finally had fortified a resolution, becoming stronger as Isabella sped her way out of her front door this morning, and gripped by a single, capital-lettered affirmation: YOU NEED A BREAK!

But now she wondered: A break from what? From who? From where? How could enclosing yourself within four concrete walls for seven days straight, possibly be considered a sound and sane decision? This wasn't a break but the complete opposite of it, because if one needs a break, one goes on vacation! Somewhere remote, secluded, a place devoid of any human interaction or simply a godforsaken pit in distant Timbuktu. But no, she wanted a total break from her life and obligations so now she needed to just learn to deal with it. Besides, Bella knew just how thorough she was with this disappearing act, one so cleverly planned not even family nor friends were aware of her current whereabouts.

If she wasn't so consumed with anxious thoughts, she'd be laughing at how easy it was misleading everyone; how her usual mild and subdued demeanor led everyone to believe in the small crumbs she fed them. Why doubt her urgency to go on a retreat, a peaceful place away from everything and everyone? She needn't even elaborate on her perfect lie, only fed them the line and people were all too eager to fill in the blanks.

Case in point, a middle-aged coworker had approached during a coffee break with exaggerated, worried wrinkles and patted her arm. "I've heard about those quarter life crises. I'm telling you, 24/7 electronics dependency will drive everyone to the dumps one of these days. I'm so proud that you're facing this problem head on, Bella."

One alcohol fueled lunch last weekend and even her best friend went puny in her devious little hands, where a much too intoxicated, raging Alice had ranted in a 'Who Runs the World' Beyoncé kind of speech. "Fuck that asshole Mike! He was the most ungrateful, lousiest piece of shit you could've had for a boyfriend! Yes, Bella. You go to that retreat and scrub away all his shit from your pores, then come back and make him see what he lost for good. Oh, you should try those mud masks! They do wonders for your skin."

Nothing deterred Bella's scheme. Not even the prohibitive, accumulated number of vacation days she had thrown at her boss so suddenly; much less her father's nonchalant, two-syllable "okay," or her mother's esoteric beliefs and her passionate incentives. "Go sweetie. Go find your inner goddess. And may the love and light of Buddha shine on you." Nothing. And now that she stood inside this room, a voice of God naming the laws and clarity finally dawning on her, she couldn't fathom why she needed an alibi for all of this when it became blatantly clear that she'd acted like a total lunatic.

The unsettled nerves tumbling inside her stomach pinched their way through a new aggressive round of nausea, while a wave of shame started to make its way up Isabella's skin, ascending finally to her burning cheeks. Deflated shoulders and long caramel hair tried to hide what her guilty conscience persistently repeated - that if things were to end badly, only she and a faceless voice would know.

Said voice broke the pandemonium of her wayward thoughts with a clipped, "Did you hear me Isabella?"

She shook her head of the fog and blew away her internal frustrations with an aggravated, "What?!"

Her eyes didn't know where to aim her annoyance, going around the room until they instinctively settled on the vanity mirror. But she could only see herself, a pathetic 26 year old woman with flushed cheeks, clenched teeth and eyes brimming with water. For a moment, she couldn't understand that expression on her face and why she was lashing out at this stranger. It certainly wasn't his fault that she ended up in this fucked up situation. She had been, from the moment she sent the RSVP letter back with the signed consent, a willing participant in this trial.

The fizzing air surrounding Bella seemed to suddenly discharge its angry volts, unclenching fists from white-bone to pink, and pursing the lips which now felt compelled to offer an apology. Those brown eyes that refused to shed shameful tears fell swiftly to sand-colored carpet, but while still struggling to assemble the appropriate words, it was his voice that finally ended their tense silence.

"I can hear fear in your voice, Isabella. You don't need to hide it."

To her, he sounded almost whispery and understanding all of a sudden, but the smallest of inflections and a sure undertone made her look up and stare again at the mirror with suspicion.

"I understand this situation might be overwhelming for you now, but I guarantee that once you adjust to your current environment, it will become easier to let go of your lingering doubts. You'd be amazed at how easily your brain can adjust to novelty. If I could wager, I'd say you'll do great through this week."

Despite it all, a small smile quivered her lips at the sound of his assuring voice, an ephemeral moment whisked away when the doctor's tone changed to serious and matter-of-fact once again. "But let me remind you. You can desist at any given moment. Just say the words or push the red button on your bedside table. You're not a prisoner, Isabella, although that door will be locked for the duration of this trial. Just be honest, and all will run smoothly."

As his words found her, her eyes turned wide when realization finally settled on the magnitude of this situation. She'd be trapped for all intents and purposes. Not a prisoner, but for as long as her willpower prevailed in seeing this test to its end, still under lock and key. She quickly stood from the bed with something like fretfulness circulating her veins, and walked the few steps to face the curtained window – her possible saving grace for these unforeseeable days that stood ahead. But as her hand drew away the gauzy fabric, a shocked gasp burst through her mouth.

A live scenery depicted a late morning skyline of a nondescript city, made more real by the muffled traffic noises coming from strategically placed, yet unseen, speakers. So twisted in its impossible, bright accuracy that only its pixelated surface could expose what truly stood in front of her: a fake, a deranged spoof to mess even more with her mind.

Her breaths came out short and growing frantic as she retreated and slumped in front of the vanity. Squeezing her eyes shut, she mentally reviewed her reasonings while trying to match her breathing with her silent, calming thoughts. But his words still managed to infiltrate, putting the final nail in the proverbial coffin.

"There's only one exit door, but there will be six cameras and several microphones around the room working nonstop – not only for the benefit of this experience but also for your own safety. I'll be conducting daily evaluations at 8 PM where I hope you give truthful and honest answers. I repeat my previous statement. You may speak – and should speak with me whenever you wish to do so. But in the interest of not compromising our study, I reserve the right to not answer certain questions you may have. Nor will I be participating in casual conversations with you, the subject, apart from our daily appointed meeting. This trial will start in one minute. Do you agree, Isabella?"

With a final gush of air leaving her lips, Bella pushed off from her slumped position. Her previous blank expression – a contradiction in itself given her last struggling moments – prefacing the cold reverberation left behind when she squared her shoulders and spoke the words aloud.

"Yes, Dr.E."

 **\- TR -**

 **Day 2**

Munching his way through a bag of Doritos, Edward watched with a strange sort of enthralled fixation as his subject sat reading a book. By Kate's report yesterday, Isabella had brought a total of four books with her. Mostly classics but he couldn't give a shit about this detail. What had led him to this trance now was, in fact, the alluring shape of Isabella's body and the almost methodical way she had snuggled herself on that armchair. With sin-shaped legs defying their hinges as they slowly bent, and finally finding their separate purposes as their owner chose one as her perfect reading prop. But apart from the turn of a page, a few casual twirls on her hair or insignificant scratches, for about two hours she'd barely moved an inch from that position – that innocent, yet begging to be ravaged, sinful position.

Edward sucked the orange dust stuck to his fingers, as he wondered about the one time she had actually moved throughout this time period. _Yes,_ he nodded with his thoughts, _it's already happening_. _She's finally letting her guard down._ When Isabella started following her urges to change the space she inhabited, suiting it to her own needs, she inadvertently started a process of appropriation. Even if cognitively she was only changing a simple piece of furniture from its original place – as was the case with an armchair – Isabella had changed the previous pattern of her actions from transient to owner.

Spinning his chair away from the screen, he chased the salty flavor in his mouth with the artificial sweetness of an energy drink, feeling relieved by this turn of events. Edward couldn't deny he preferred this reaction much more than her cold shoulder from yesterday. He had been prepared for the silent treatment, a mighty fit of rage or even – although he prayed ardently for its opposite – her immediate departure from the room. Instead, he had to cope with an unsettling world of bare minimums.

She had barely spoken through last night's evaluation, only offering short sentences which dripped with ill-concealed tedium. She had barely eaten more than a few forkfuls from the two main meals that came yesterday through the meal slot. Shit, she had barely made herself visible most of the time, when she basically threw herself under the bed covers and pretended to sleep the day away. So yes, Edward was definitely okay with the prospect of seeing an end to her rebuff. Now he'd only have to wait to find why.

 **\- TR -**

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"I would like for you to elaborate today, Isabella."

"I don't know. I guess I feel more resigned to what's happening. But that's not the word exactly. Maybe acceptive."

"Were you having trouble with the concept of being confined, or was it some other exterior motive which was holding your acceptance?"

"I could say I still had reservations with the trial."

"But not anymore?"

"I signed up for the challenge, Doctor. Even if I currently don't trust my reasonings for doing so, it wouldn't be fair to give up because of it."

"Fair to who?"

"To everyone. To you?"

"But not you? It sounds like I'm twisting your arm. Do you feel obligated to me?"

"Well, no... Or I guess, yes, in regards to my sense of duty."

"Isabella?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you move the armchair earlier?"

"What?"

"The armchair. You changed its position so it now faces the window. Why?"

"Oh… I normally like to read close to the sun."

"Is it usually an activity you do outdoors?"

"No, no… Well, I guess sometimes I do, but not much. I…"

"Yes?"

"It's kind of stupid… I think I like the sun because it reminds me of home. My dad's home, that is."

"Is it a sunny place?"

"Nooooo, quite the opposite! But the lack of sun, is probably a direct cause of me liking to read close to a window so much. On the rare occasions it actually came out, I liked to feel its direct presence. It was calming somehow."

"That sounds comforting… Umm… uh… Did you learn anything new about yourself today?"

"Only that I may be more frigid than I believed, Dr. E."

"Wha– Why do say that?"

"Because I came here convinced I could finally allow myself to wallow over the break-up with my boyfriend, yet I find myself incapable of exerting any kind of emotion for the man who spent four years with me… and thought I would be fine with the idea of him fucking someone else for the whole last year of it! I can't feel nothing. I'm a heartless bitch, Doctor."

"Hey now, take it easy on yourself! I believe you're being too cerebral about 's no defined timeframe for when you should wallow. It could take time to process that sort of pain… A heart mends at its needed pace, Isabella."

"You think? 'Cause it ended six months ago."

"Well..."

"Dr. E?"

"Yes, Isabella?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now let's wrap things up for the day. Do you have any questions?"

"No."

"Okay, then. Isabella, thank you again for your collaboration. Have a good night."

 **...**

It would take at least three more hours, until Bella could pinpoint exactly why a lingering feeling of calmness had been prevailing her senses. Why, while she had entered the bathroom and going through her nightly routine, she still felt that silent kind of quality one would get in association with a peaceful mind. At first she didn't give much thought to it, justifying the prolonged mood as a normal aftereffect of a much-deserved, well-rested night of sleep. But while savoring her way through a delicious plate of mushroom ravioli, and the touch of its soothing embrace had waved its way through her mind once again, Bella had reflected more carefully on its cause.

She had racked her brain through a pretty much uneventful day, enlarging those moments she thought could have meant something more. But the cringeworthy mental image of herself as she tried disingenuously to drown her break-up with a pint of strawberry ice cream had managed to restrain her curious wandering thoughts that much quicker. So she had found herself riding along this continuous feeling, mindless of its repeating laps along her limbs, through her stomach and around her heart. Consequently, she even heard herself laugh with gusto together with a riveted audience, as the talk show host goofed around with the latest flavor-of-the-month, Hollywood starlet. But the dawning realization would only come later, with the down brushstrokes through her long hair and a stubborn frown reflected on the bathroom mirror.

Making the short walk from the bathroom to the bed, Bella could feel the pinprick of an invisible set of eyes against her exposed neck, awareness and an awkward sense of embarrassment now pulling the strings of an unsettled heart. Slowly, she took a seat on the mattress then chanced a glance toward one of the cameras, biting her bottom lip as she mulled over her own conclusions. Because now that she had sifted through it all, Bella realized there's a common link to every moment she had felt suffused with this serene, hazy feeling. One she neglected to analyze when her brain had decided to go after self-centered tangents instead and only came back empty-handed and disappointed: a voice.

Bella could no longer reject the idea that the doctor's rich-toned voice had been oh-so-subtly echoing around the back of her brain over the last few hours. But how, she wondered. How was it possible that with a mere change of tone, he could now seep so easily through her thoughts? Because it certainly wasn't the detached, no nonsense, unfeeling voice from yesterday she kept replaying. It was something new and mystifying, something with form and character; something that undoubtedly was powerful enough to change her perception of him.

Laid on her back with a hand between a cotton pillow and her head, Bella started to realize that with this unexpected transformation of his conduct, somehow her own mind began playing a very different kind of profile than that of the cold-hearted charlatan she'd attributed to Dr. E on the previous day. Maybe it's because the grit had textured into a rasp, but today seemed to only be a husk. Or perhaps it didn't have a thing to do with tone but instead its impression, and how for a second there today, he had sounded genuinely curious – and not just scientifically curious – but also worried for her. But could he really care about her? Should he? And was this sudden change a good enough reason to trust him? Bella felt torn.

She could be deluding herself into thinking his reformed attitude had been done in repentance, instead of being an intentional, strategic ruse to make her more mild and complacent in this setting. As she scooted down more comfortably under the covers and turned to switch off the bedside lamp, Bella concluded that for the time being, if he was willing to change and be more pleasant to her, then so could she.

She sighed a sleepy, deep breath and began practicing aloud, "Good night, Dr.E."

 **\- TR -**

 **Day 3**

The day began with a start. A spasmodic, gasp-inducing kind of start, when Bella jolted up suddenly from her sleep and found herself trying to grasp something she immediately couldn't name. She took no heed of the weird feeling which followed her out of the bed and into the bathroom, her mind still fogged with the vagrant musings of slumber. She went through the motions of a casual day off of work, stepping into the shower, where she thoroughly tried to wash the night away from her body but in no way succeeded in scrubbing off the nerve-wracking, ominous feeling stuck to her skin.

Fleeing from a coldness that insisted on lingering, Bella quickly dressed in yet another ensemble of yoga pants and a sweatshirt, blow-dried her long dark hair, brushed her teeth and applied some moisturizer on her face – all the while sensing an invisible cloud of dread hovering over her head. One which had nothing to do with the never-ending awareness of the constant watchfulness of another pair of eyes.

Cautious, naked footsteps padded across a room which now seemed to burst much louder that same feeling, putting validation on Bella's suspicions and raising her mental state to a new level of alertness. She didn't let her actions be guided by this, not wanting to outwardly express what she couldn't yet identify as out-of-place, as she casually moved around the bedroom and started to tidy up the sheets. But while her hands kept themselves busy, her eyes tried to surreptitiously glance at her surroundings, with an analytical intent that quickly noted the weird, box-shaped contraption posing as the meal slot blinked its green confirmation for her breakfast delivery.

She straightened her back and headed towards it, but after only three small steps she suddenly halted. How hadn't she noticed this sooner? How hadn't she sensed its immediate absence from the room? How, when the grating impact from the electric buzz left behind by its remnants was now deafening to her own ears?

Where did the background noise go?

Where were those recorded, muffled sounds from the city's traffic that had kept playing on a loop for two days straight? Where were those layered resonances of the exhaust pipes and rolling engines from passing cars, and the intermittent honks of their impatient drivers? Where had the screechy brakes from a neglected bus and its raucous engine gone? Or the distant, metallic rumbles of a suburban train as it sped away against the tracks? Where were the brief gusts of wind or the hubbub of multiple voices, too far and faint to be discernible? Where the fuck did it all go?

With her face wrinkled into a question and her hands shaking, Bella started to angrily pace around the room, a growing realization making itself present. This surely had been the doings of the doctor. A sadistic tactic against the idleness and sense of ease she'd developed yesterday. A glaring fuck-you message to the almost affectionate approach she'd allowed herself to use with him. Without a doubt, this perverse manipulation on her environment had been not only his twisted and deranged way to reinstate his control and dominance over her, but was also a simple act of showing that Dr. E, _most definitely,_ would not be compromising this trial with her friendly notions.

When anger started to lose the battle against panic, and with the physical walls of this room seeming to close around her and press a breathtaking weight on her chest, Bella simply gave up on reason. Acting on instinct alone and anxious to replace the loudness of this silence with something even louder, she tripped her way toward the LCD's remote control. She held it with trembling hands and kept pressing down on various buttons, but, through the haze of her frenzied state, the only answer she got back – the only message she could read against the blackness of the flat screen - was a curt and inane 'NO SIGNAL.'

And that was when she lost it with a blood-curdling scream.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

 **\- TR -**

Edward had almost pissed himself when her first murderous cry had reached him. Literally. He had been enjoying a toilet break, humming along with the initial feelings of morning's relief, when the sudden disruptive sound of Isabella's distressed voice had jolted the hand holding his dick, spraying urine away from its intended target. He had never run as fast as he did in that moment as he scrambled to the control room, with the fly of his pants still undone and a clenched heart begging to protect her from a yet unseen evil. Although he could never had guessed the force of her fury had been aimed at him. And him alone.

He had watched, his mouth agape and with no small amount of fascination and fear, as Isabella fell apart in front of him. She had finally thrashed the last pieces of decorum, exposing the rawness of her wounds and the bitterness on her tongue as she wished him to the deepest pits of hell. His eyes had volleyed between monitors as every camera picked up on her angry pacing, showing the white-knuckled defiance of her fists and the jagged bite of cursing words. On top of her mountain of violence – where her flesh pumped with fiery onslaughts turned her crimson lips into thorny roses; where the bouncing caramel tresses of her long hair now whipped imaginary punishing marks against his face; or where the fragile-looking limbs of her once delicate body had densified themselves with uncontainable rage – Isabella Swan was a goddess, a beautiful force of nature to be reckoned with.

At the sight of this wild tornado embodied by a beautiful brunette, Edward felt an unprecedented sense of thrill run through his veins. A hot kind of impression which left its trails along his body, swelling up the pride which filled his lungs for her revelation; swelling up the cock which had lusted after her for so long. It had probably been this antithetical aspect on Isabella's comportment which had thrown him into an awestruck, speechless stupor for a while. How, suddenly his brain had to reconcile this totally new manifestation of her with the demure and delicate image he had crystallized since the first moment he saw her not even four months ago.

Back then she'd been the perfect backside which had caught his attention a few patrons ahead in the line for coffee, who suddenly moved away to collect her drink and made an even better impression with her perfect front side. She'd been the chance encounter on his morning run in the park, passing him by along with a spirited friend, too fast to stop in his tracks yet too slow to forget the way her melodious laughs had sounded.

At the hands of fate, she'd walk through his life three more times without Edward finding the opportune way to approach her and introduce himself. Once on a Saturday night only two blocks away from his home when she stopped on the sidewalk then quickly disappeared as she rode off inside a cab, leaving behind only the image of her trench coat and fuck-me heels for him to later picture as he jacked off. The other two, once again at their mutual neighborhood's coffee shop, with an electrifying, unintentional brush of shoulders by its entrance as she sped her way out to a work day, and a surreptitious, hungry gaze as he watched her from a secluded table while she waited for her order.

But by then, Edward had already sent Fate to hell, and promptly had decided to take the matter in his own hands. Against his better judgement and everything he deemed as reasonable and sane, he had seen himself doing the unthinkable. He had followed her. Just long enough to gather the evidence of Isabella's life and prove she hadn't really been a figment of his imagination, yet short enough not to earn him the creepy profile of an obsessed stalker.

To assuage his own guilt of how frighteningly easy it had been to garner information, he had almost looked at the whole operation as something like a joint venture. Because it'd been thanks to the loud-voiced coffee shop's barista that he had gotten a name. Thanks to one of Isabella's neighbors, a nice old lady he had helped up the front stairs and who had happened to be an unintentional blabbermouth, Edward had gotten a full address, a books-related profession, and a swindler with too-nice-to-be-good eyes for an ex-boyfriend. Thanks in no small amount to Isabella herself, the epitome of his wet dreams and the girl who kept invading his thoughts through days on end, he had a concrete purpose. And thanks to Edward himself, he had slowly but surely elaborated a perfectly designed plan and the means to accomplish it, and finally got Isabella that much closer. But that had been while the girl was still a very alluring mystery, not the jaw-droppingly beautiful concretion of the woman who had finally allowed him entrance into her most vulnerable side.

It had been exactly when the raging overflow reached its peak, and Isabella started the real and vertiginous descent on her emotional meltdown, with her knees sinking to the carpet and heartbreaking sobs quaking her body, that Edward had finally realized how much she'd been bottling up her insecurities over the last few days. How much of it wasn't really related to her sudden deprivation of sound – a programmed part of the trial aimed to test individual reactions to adversity – but instead, her well-concealed fear of having so much silence to deal with the issues and shame she'd been harboring since this started.

This dramatic departure from her hissy fit had liquified Edward's initial hardness, opening the door to something he'd been cautiously trying to keep at bay for the duration of this experiment, afraid it could really compromise its results: his true feelings for Isabella. After all, there's only so much you can bear witness until your heart begins to crack. But when he had switched on the microphone, and through a soothing yet still worried tone, had started to make sure she was okay and if she needed anything, it had been too late. Isabella's walls were raised once again and with them any kind of receptiveness to his advances vanished.

With eyes much redder than brown and cheeks still shiny with tears, Isabella had looked up at the sudden sound of his voice. But the only thing she had sent his way – besides a staggering, withering look – were the gritted words she'd spoken with a hoarse voice, "Get the fuck out of my head!"

And then she'd climbed to her feet and promptly locked herself inside the bathroom. A place she had been hiding until now, several hours later, behind the only spot she wouldn't be completely exposed to the cameras that kept on filming – the shower stall.

Through the day and with his heart in an uncomfortable grip, Edward had heard the strangled self-deprecating cries, the breathless heaves of undeserved love, muffled words he couldn't always decipher and others painfully clear, filled with doubt, shame and regret, until they'd finally gave way to calming sniffles with intermittent sighs that marked an end to her long emotional discharge. And he was waiting, like he had been since the beginning when he only let fate dictate their meetings, for another chance to see her beautiful face again. And he might have imagined her whispered words – he probably would've ignored them – if they weren't immediately followed by something that wasn't quite his given name, but somehow felt much more intimate when it came from her.

"I'm sorry, E."

Something about those words seemed to blur the lines that had been drawn, and for an indeterminate moment, Edward felt himself succumb to a powerful kind of spell; one which made him mindlessly forget the roles they had been playing in this set. In its lingering effect, he felt compelled to make a choice. He could've blamed it on the tiredness in his bones or an insistent back pain, left by one too many hours sitting in that chair tensely and powerlessly witnessing Isabella's struggle. Or maybe it's just the end result of sleep deprivation itself, where an uncomfortable sleeping cot and a always-alert mind couldn't alleviate his weary brain. But while making this choice, something inside Edward started to give in.

 **\- TR -**

 **Day 4**

It was already late morning but Bella still hadn't moved from the bed. Laid on her side, her eyes kept being pulled towards the red button which over the last days had always stared at her in invitation. She knew what pushing it would mean. She had once even given into temptation and skimmed her fingers over the round plastic, just so she could feel a modicum of the finality such an action would entail. But strangely, she couldn't feel a thing today. All the urges for an easy way out had been swept away overnight. And this indifference on her part was what had made her reflect over the last hour.

What did it mean? Was this unresponsiveness a direct effect from yesterday? Had she expurgated more with her emotional breakdown than she could've imagined? Because when her body had hit the bed last night, too exhausted to take action on her will, her mind had been made up – she would give up on this charade. But now, she realized her mind wasn't feeling that bothered anymore with the idea of seeing this trial run its normal course. In fact, clashing against yesterday's urgent thoughts was the lingering feeling of a detached mental state.

A bad case of muscle soreness and the pressing matter of a full bladder made Bella finally hop out of bed, effectively ending the puzzling fixation with the subject. She sped through the more urgent matters then returned to the bedroom, wondering what sort of distraction would keep her busy today. What from her boring repertoire of habits would the always unpredictable doctor wish to analyze? But Bella didn't want to think of him, her feelings still torn in his respect and that line of thought was quickly pushed aside when her back decided to painfully complain again.

Before Bella could feel any kind of self-consciousness, she disrobed her sweatshirt and then her body was already following on a well-practiced routine – she arched, twisted and bent, stretching out every single part which protested her poor choice of hiding place yesterday. Ending it with a deep breath, she couldn't help the soft turn on her lips as they constructed a smile, realizing that in many ways her own head had also benefited from this workout. And with a reconciled state of mind, Bella moved on with her day.

Still braiding her hair after a quick shower, she let the growls of her famished stomach lead her way toward the meal slot. She pulled softly on the knob of the small box, immediately inhaling the mouthwatering aroma of her generous breakfast tray. She picked it up and, while retreating her steps, her eyes glazed over as they inspected the freshly made pancakes, the creaminess of a bowl of Greek yogurt, the glistening appeal of fresh berries, and the salivating promise of a brimming cup of black coffee. She couldn't wait to devour this precious sight.

First she gently squatted then slowly brought her knees down to the carpeted floor, positioning herself with her back to the legs of the armchair as she unfolded the legs of the wooden tray. Facing the fake sunny window with a happy sort of sigh, she noticed for the first time as the faintest vestiges of music made themselves present inside the room. Too low to be discernible, its soft unobtrusive quality wouldn't be so different if she'd been hearing it from a neighbor's distant sound system. As Bella started unwrapping the silverware from the cloth napkin, she quickly decided that while probably intentional, she didn't mind having the artificial sounds around her once again.

Something suddenly fell in front of her. "What the– " she started in surprise.

Dropping the unrolled silverware to the side, she realized a small piece of paper had inadvertently fallen on top of the fluffy pancakes when she'd loosened up the napkin. Her brows raised at the odd situation, she picked the paper and started to unfold it, not understanding how such a thing could've had ended inside this room if not... But as she leaned over to read the words on the wrinkled sheet, the meaning of it became clear as a shocked gasp dropped from her mouth. Because yes, it had been done on purpose.

As the first wave of cold sweat started to evolve into a burning fire on her cheeks, Bella concluded this premeditated message could only have come from one person. It wasn't even a hypothetical conclusion anymore, but instead something which formed with a spine-tingling kind of certainty. She knew only one individual had been privy to her meltdown, exclusively watching as she stripped out of her impassiveness and imputed him through a high-pitched, biting diatribe. She now, also could shamefully see that he had witnessed the pitiful downfall from her raging highs, when she had hid herself inside the bathroom and released her mountain of repressed emotions. And Bella could also recall how, after the long deluge of self-pitying wails and chopped breaths filled with regret, she had found herself finally acknowledging the unmerited accusation she'd pinned down on Dr. E and, through low-murmured words, she'd finally offered him an apology.

But as she read his written mirrored sentiment once again, it was impossible for Bella not to linger on the other sentence which immediately followed the doctor's repentance.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She mouthed her incredulity.

Why would he compromise the trial with such a heedless gesture? He had bluntly stated on that first day the words himself – "utmost professionalism" – but with this message they could only be placed on the opposite spectrum of their definition. Then suddenly it dawned on her. It wasn't meant to be perceptible to the cameras. His out-of-character actions not only showed he's trying to be surreptitious about it, but also that he wasn't that worried anymore of trespassing the thin line which effectively endangered their relationship as doctor and subject in this setting.

Bella could hardly breathe or even spell out her feelings on the matter. She couldn't explain how his secretive confession had swiftly unfurled a myriad of sensations inside her body, trailing its warming effects from her flushed face down to her fast-paced heart, awakening the flutters in her stomach which suddenly felt like nothing compared to the tingling arousal pooling on her panties. She should be appalled at the welcoming burn of his daring words or even contemplate the possible repercussions to Dr. E's misconduct, but her mind was clouded with new lust and a primitive need to protect whatever he was now trying to lay bare to her. She didn't think further, just followed on her volatile urges, scrambling on her hands and knees through the floor with desperate speed until she reached the bedside table.

Taking hold on the book presently laid down on its surface, Bella randomly opened it and then quickly trapped the doctor's words in between Mr. Darcy's ill-fated marriage proposal to Elizabeth, as she closed the book with a thump. But as she breathlessly crawled away to her former sitting place, she couldn't erase them from her mind...

I'M SORRY, TOO. I SO BADLY WANTED TO KISS YOUR SORROWS AWAY.

Why did she now feel so compelled to read in between the lines? As her head tumbled backwards onto the pillowed armchair's seat, Bella's mind started spinning with possible derivations, tangible reasonings why Dr. E did what he had done. Maybe he's only apologizing and the kisses were fraternal, just meant to pacify her. He didn't really mean to kiss her, kiss her. But he did adverb it... _Oh God, badly! And why does it sound so good?_ Was she thirsting for a kiss because it had been too long since her lips lost themselves into another pair, or was she longing for his specific kisses?

Her hands flew to her face and muffled her groan. What was she thinking? _Bella, you're insane!_ She didn't know anything about this man. For all she knew, he's probably just a bald, chubby weirdo with voyeuristic, depraved tendencies. But her head was shaking even before she completed that thought because it couldn't be. A voice like his could star in the most beautiful of ballads, would make lovers want to cling to each other, or tuck you into your bed through the chilly winter nights. _He simply couldn't be those things_ , she mentally huffed.

But as her arms embraced her legs with her chin falling onto her knees, Bella began considering another angle. _What if I'm projecting_? Perhaps this strange fixation to Dr.E's deep voice was nothing but an added layer into an already existing infatuation, and she was only laying this alluring attribute onto another handsome face her brain kept conjuring. The face from that cute guy that sometimes went to her coffee shop, who was always seated at the corner table close to the window. The one with tortoise-framed glasses verging between geek and hipster land and the ever-present messy mop of hair with its odd color, burnt umber and tawny port. Or the nervous gestures he could never seem to contain when he was concentrating on reading the newspaper, like the bouncing knee and neck rubbing, or the way he bites down on his plump bottom lip.

Bella still didn't know what had been Dr. E's intentions when he sent that private message – nor how she'd approach the subject later on during their nightly chat – although her mind kept struggling throughout the day to settle down on the best version of her possibilities. But while her mind got lost in beautiful places, reigniting the burn of moments ago, the promising cup of coffee ended up going cold.

 **\- TR -**

"C'mon, Isabella! Give it to me straight."

His voice was a hushed graze of cords infused in taunt, trying to conceal his true amusement at seeing the girl so predisposed in front of him. Edward watched from the darkness of his command chamber, slouched backwards and a hand under his chin rubbing against the evidence of a smile, as Isabella slowed down her chewing and tipped her head slightly to the ceiling, ears open in anticipation. His green eyes were suddenly pinned to the inviting slant of her pale neck, its long column rigid but for the small slackening traveling from her jaw, as she ended her rumination and finally swallowed down her food. But by then the opening melody to the song was already registering its recognition with an eye roll, as the 80's cheesy piano introduced the first lyrics of Air Supply's _Making Love Out Of Nothing At All._

He was already laughing openly when she twisted her mouth in disgust.

"You bastard!" Isabella sneered to the camera on her left, showing him her insincere disapproval visibly caught by the small twitch on her lips. "You said something better than elevator music. How in the hell is my parents' corny prom song considered better?"

His mirth nothing but nose laughs now, Edward retorted, "You wanted something from the heart. I thought you'd love this one." He saw her brown eyes widen in shock, and he rushed with an offer before he lost his control again. "Do you want me to change it?"

Isabella's French braid bounced with her earnest reply, "Yes, please! I won't complain anymore. You can even bring _Songs from the Sea_ back."

"What?!" He gasped in faked insult. "No, I don't think so. You wanted to kill me with the harp, Isabella! Let's just keep with the classics, okay?"

And now she was desperate, crawling through the carpet to come closer to the camera, all guns blazing as she batted her eyes and overdid her pouted lips while she begged him, "Please, please, please, Dr.E! This is killing my ears!"

Coughing so as not to laugh or say something inappropriate, Edward decided to intervene before her flustered supplication could even more encourage his hardening cock. He would love nothing more than to have her just like this, down on her knees and ardently pleading to relieve him of his literal hardship. He gave a calming pat down on his bulge, though before he could mask it the consequent wince managed to flow through the microphone with his words turning breathy.

"Alright, alright. You can stop with the puppy eyes now, Isabella. I'll change it." His lips slanted into a crook when his fingers scrolled through his laptop's playlist. "But I don't want to hear a peep from you when the pipes start playing. I'm switching to _Songs from the Countryside_ now."

He heard Isabella's groan even before he could set the music but glanced to the monitor just in time to catch her perky little ass retreat back to her abandoned dinner tray, swaying in the air in those unrelenting extra tight yoga pants of hers. Edward had to shut his eyes and do a mental countdown just so he could allow some sense of restraint to enter his suddenly very dirty thoughts. It was becoming awfully difficult to manage his urges these days. But nothing as painful like today... because Isabella Swan was a fucking tease!

From the first morning rays, she had rendered him into a sputtering mess on the edge of his seat. It all had started when he found her eyes fixed on that damn red button, and he had waited with bated breath for the moment she'd finally say "fuck it" and press down on it, ending this trial once and for all. It never came. And even before his heart could sigh in relief, Isabella had already upped her game and she gave him the most fuckawesome work out session he had had the pleasure to witness in his life. One that made his balls so painfully tight, he had to run for his private toilet so he could relieve all the tension she had induced. And consequently, what had made him miss out on Isabella's first reactions to the hidden message he'd sent her.

He had eventually gone back in time, rewinding to the revelation scene, but not before Isabella's silent introspection, and the lack of any hint to the direction of her thoughts, could make Edward lose his fucking mind with frustration. Although he still hadn't figured out exactly what those images had shown him because Isabella had been visibly flustered – and given the pink blossom on her cheeks he hoped even somewhat turned on – but she'd quickly managed to rein in her nervousness and the only clear emotion she'd let on ever since was that she was definitely intrigued.

He knew he had been crossing a very dangerous line when he'd sent her that message earlier. Even worse was the terrible awareness that something like this could very well cost him his job if discovered. But while his brain had displayed all the real consequences, at the time, it had been Edward's extremely motivated instincts which finally propelled him into acting on his curiosity. If nothing else, the mere sight of Isabella crying about her own regrets had only egged him on. He had to at least try. He had to allow her to see that she could have someone by her side. Someone she could trust wholeheartedly. Someone who could - and would - love her despite it all.

But given the absence of a significant reaction which could inspire any real sense of hope, and it already seemed his efforts had been for naught, Isabella had succeeded in yet again outrunning him in this race, thus instigating another somersault in his stomach. He had been particularly puzzled to her warm reception at their evaluation – not only because it sounded odd, but also for the simple fact they hadn't even talked yet about their issues from yesterday – but it didn't take long until Edward could understand her angle.

The little vixen was testing him. By being amiable and receptive to every question he posed, she'd hoped he'd feel allayed of his guilt and consequently garner his credence. By pushing the boundaries of their usual interactions, delaying the end of their meeting with the easy flow of casual banter, she'd hoped to make him at ease and unsuspicious. And by not even hinting a word about the big elephant in the room, she'd hoped he would start sweating bullets and, eventually, be the first to come clean about it.

But Isabella didn't even know who she was dealing with here. She could pretend all she wanted, he'd still own this fucking game. All she kept proving with this charming little act filled with provocative innuendos was that he had definitely roused her interest. And this confirmation only served to instigate him to win this game of manipulation even more. He would play nice of course, but he would play fair, too, because Edward absolutely hated to lose.

Watching Isabella already finishing with her dinner, Edward decided to put a final stop to their very prolonged conversation.

"I'm so sorry, Isabella, but I'll have to wrap things up for the night. All this talking, and I still have to fill in a bunch of paperwork," his words delivered the proper friendly intonation she'd be expecting, though he still managed to catch her by surprise by the looks of it. "Do you have any more requests?"

She couldn't quite hide her disappointment for a moment, but quickly composed herself and paid him back with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Well... I would really, really, really love to have a glass of wine tomorrow. Will you allow it? Please?"

He chuckled. "I'm sorry. You know I can't break the rules," he replied apologetically.

She slumped her shoulders, looking truly crestfallen. "Oh... okay."

"Well then, if that's all... Goodnight, Isabella. Sweet dreams," Edward said with calculated gentleness.

"Night, Dr.E," she softly answered with a smile, her arms hugging her sweatshirt-covered waist.

Another thing Edward absolutely hated: clothes. Specifically, Isabella's clothes. And some of them would have to fucking disappear. Bless those wonderful yoga pants, but even they would have to go. ASAP! Luckily for him, he knew just how to warm things up.

 **\- TR -**

 **Day 5**

Edward felt a new appreciation for the magnificent artistry which comes at the hands of a puppeteer. There's a powerful sort of exhilaration which rises when one finally masters the delicate threads, pushing and pulling the submitter with enough restraint in your hands to allow it to shine on the stage but still intrinsically bound them to your own desired deliberations. And he understood perfectly well this kind of empowered feeling, as he saw Isabella slowly losing her self-control throughout the day to the weakening effects of his master plan.

Who would have thought it'd be Isabella's own stubborn streak that would ultimately help him? Until yesterday, Edward certainly didn't think so. But through the infinite power of suggestion, and by leaving her hanging without an effective answer which could quench her suspicion, he had sparked her relentless curiosity to solve this mystery, thus finding his way to maintain her interest in him. And she was definitely interested.

He had successfully turned the tables on her attempted manipulation, feeding the line which kept Isabella thinking she was getting closer to something substantial, only to reel back and make her second-guess herself with her assumption. It had been a crazy day for Isabella, for sure. She didn't know anymore what to think of his actions. Did his unexpected morning greeting mean something more? Did the romantic songs he kept playing have a double meaning? And what about his prolonged silence? Did it mean he regretted sending that message, or was he only afraid of compromising his job? The frustration had been visibly clear on Isabella today, playing out openly through her fidgety body and making her reckless with her usual guarded thoughts, as she unsuccessfully tried to engage him in conversations that had quickly been converted to long monologues.

On the other hand, the doctor was having the most wonderful of days. Edward's method through gentle persuasion was beginning to reap its fruits. While keeping her guessing, he had positively managed to turn Isabella into a hot and bothered mess. A pleasant sight to his sore eyes indeed. Because while the temperature had been subtly and quietly rising on the thermostat, Isabella's clothes had been rapidly diminishing throughout the day. He knew he was playing with fire and that he'd already turned his back on caution, obliterating every single rule that deemed his conduct as professional. But Edward still had one more ace up his sleeve – one that could finally make her submit body and soul to him – and he couldn't wait to see it in action.

 **\- TR -**

"Oh shit."

A sudden wave of lightheadedness stopped Bella in her tracks, making her awkwardly plop sideways on the bed so as not to embarrass herself even further by dropping on her face down on the floor. Sleepy eyes fell shut for a moment as she breathed out through her nose.

"Give me a second. I think that juice is going to my head."

Somewhere from above her – or maybe beside her, she didn't know anymore – his low-toned chuckles reached her ears, followed by his equally sexy husky voice. "Isabella, you're a lush! Who would have thought you'd be like this with a single bottle of ginger ale?"

That did it. Within a second, her arms were pushing herself straight and Bella shot him a glare through the vanity mirror.

"I'm not a lush, you idiot!" She slowly scooted backwards until her back hit the headboard, and while propping the fluffy pillows more comfortably behind her, she argued, "We both know that wasn't your typical kind of ginger ale – though I still don't know how you've managed to pull that one off."

She slid down slightly and threw the covers over her bare legs, her defensiveness losing steam to something irrevocably more sheepish.

"And I was thirsty..."

The doctor's laugh streamed out with a strange, knowing undercurrent, something which didn't quite fade when he vaguely explained, "Oh, I have my ways..."

His words were immediately felt throughout her body as an unexpected chill started awakening Bella's sensitive nerve endings with the velvet on his tongue. Trying to hide its evidence, she burrowed down lower against the sheets and played as nonchalant as possible while squeezing her legs together for much needed relief. She could no longer attribute the chilly white wine Dr. E had so generously smuggled to her as being the only cause for her current arousal. No, this was definitely him. Subtly shaking off the lust from her mind, she hoped to deliver her annoyance when she groaned loudly.

"Let's not get ourselves sidetracked, mister," she warned him, anxious to put herself far from dangerous paths. "You're so the Samantha in this situation, it's even ridiculous! I'm obviously Theodore, you faceless person!"

He tsked. "No, I don't think so. Who's the unstable one in this scenario, huh?" Dr. E retorted without malice.

Her mouth dropped open at his audacity, then she blew a quiet "Ouch."

But it seemed the doctor wasn't yet done with his ribbing. "No, really," he pressed on. "I'll let that one slide for now, me being like an OS – albeit a very sexy-voiced one, I must say. But the fact you personify yourself as a bispecaled, pornstached man who wears high-waisted pants for fucks sake, is just wrong." He shuddered, dramatically.

"Plus," Dr. E added with taunt. "Who keeps pushing the boundaries of this trial to suit their own moods, Isabella?"

 _No he did not go there!_

Her short laugh was a humorless one, unleashed by shock, disdain and even some bewilderment. The gall of this man twisting the story like this, taking no claim in this Machiavellian orchestration whose only purpose had been to baffle her to no end. Bella's words came as short as her laugh had been, but their impetuosity carried along with something exponentially more daring.

"Fuck you!" she spit.

She couldn't remember how long it had been since she felt something like this. Probably never. Much less with an almost stranger. This kind of excitement covered all Bella's skin, burning a trail of liquid fire from her heart down to her pussy, making the very ends of her body tingle in anticipation. This feeling turned her reckless, brazen, shameless, inebriated with something so powerful, it made her throw her back to all the puzzling questions that hadn't yet been answered – because if this room was a fake, why wouldn't these feelings be as well? But the crucial fact was that, with every day, his voice had sounded progressively more real to her.

She knew their interactions were conditioned by the contract which obligated them as doctor and subject. And though Dr. E had hinted that he felt something more, it was clear that he was afraid of compromising his job with other imprudent actions. But it was undeniable to Bella just how much she became dependent of him along the way. Even with all its ups and downs, stumbles and falls, revelations and frustrations – as their relationship evolved day upon day, Bella started to long for their connection. And as their familiarity grew with their easy banter, showing their many shared likes and dislikes, so did her eagerness to find out if the doctor could become something more outside these walls.

She heard him suck in a breath, then shuddered ever so slightly as Dr. E released it through his teeth, "Oh, I wish I could be there with you right now just to wipe those dirty words off your mouth, Isabella."

And then it's there, the perfect shortcut Bella had been waiting for so long. It might not have been the wine or the man with heaven and hell in his deep voice, nor even the poor misappropriation of something irrevocably linked to that particular movie they'd been making fun of, which suddenly put words on the tip of her tongue, a whisper away from being set loose. But then it's everything, and they're no longer there.

"How would you touch me?"

"Isabella." It was a warning, a don't you dare.

But now that the window was wide open, she didn't want to lose her chance of setting free her deepest desires. She rephrased her invitation. "What would you do to me, if you could?"

His breathing was turning ragged. "Don't tempt me, Isabella."

"Please…," she begged, frantic with pent-up lust. "You've been doing things, messing around with me. I want–"

"Oh God…, he groaned, his imploring nothing but a feeble attempt. "Don't do this."

She turned her face to the pillow, restraining the words which wanted to say, "Please, compromise! Please compromise!"

But only came out as a whimper, "Please, E–"

"Edward!" He suddenly growled, cutting her off.

"Edward…," she gasped his name for the first time. "I need you."

His undoing might've been the delirium which seeped through her desperate words, but she welcomed with solace the revolution he ensued, "Baby… Let me see you."

Her shaking hands followed swiftly with his whispered request, throwing the blanket out of the way and exposing long legs that couldn't stop squirming, as they pressed together and tried to seek some kind of friction.

"Perfect…," he awed in appreciation, inflaming her body with burning desire. "So fucking beautiful."

"Now listen, carefully," Edward had suddenly cleared the softness from his voice, replacing it with the sharpness of his orders. "I want you to lay back and close your eyes. And keep your arms to your sides for now. You're not allowed to see, just feel."

Bella did just as he commanded, shutting the room to a tantalizing world of darkness.

Then he began, "Breathe in…"

Her body arched, groggy with anticipation, all the air within waiting to be freed by his permission.

"Release," he breathed out with her. "Yes, can you feel me close to you, baby? Do you feel the warmth of my fingers as their tips, oh so slowly start skimming along your left arm?"

 _Oh my god,_ he had never sounded this close to her, as his words broke her skin with goosebumps.

"As they leave a tingling trail when they glide up to your shoulder, then down as they press harder between the valley of your breasts and suddenly stop over your stomach."

Her breath was sharp.

"I'm a terrible tease, aren't I? You wanted to feel that pressure on your nipples… Or lower…," his voice was a whispered, wicked promise, crawling freely through her body, admonished by his following words, "But we're not there yet. Don't move!"

Bella panted. Edward tortured.

"I'm practically touching you again… Can you feel the hot breath on your neck?"

 _Yes_! She shuddered.

"I'm dipping my nose close to your warm skin, breathing in your mouthwatering scent as I finally brush down on your silky tresses then slightly moving to that place just between your jaw and your ear."

Her mind faintly refuted the impossibles while her body trembled with its proof.

"But I don't linger as you wished… and just skip to your beautiful face, tracing its contours, feeling the burn on your cheeks, bumping into your sweet little nose. My mouth is just hovering over yours now…"

Her mouth was a parched desert, and her tongue snaked out to wet her lips.

"And it's so tempting to dip in lower, to finally find out how it tastes, to find out how it feels to have your bottom lip between my teeth and chew on it like I saw you doing so many times. You're such a tease, baby… Tell me. Do you want me to kiss you now?"

But her voice was muted with stifled lust and Bella's lack of an immediate reply raised the authority on his tone, "Answer me!"

"Y-yes!" She moaned. "So much."

"Hmm… I know, Isabella. But I can't," Edward informed, unapologetic. "I like to savor my wine properly first. I need to thoroughly investigate its prominent scents, to awaken my taste buds so the flavor is even better when I finally drink it. Can you tell me if you'll be spicy? Will your skin have the sweetness of fresh berries? Do you know if it'll have a woodsy aroma when I finally dive in?" He hissed with pleasure. "Speaking of it… Do you know where my nose is traveling now? You've been waiting for this."

Bella couldn't follow anymore the direction of his phantom touches. "I can't…," she protested. "I'm–"

"Hush now!" Edward abruptly ordered. "We're just starting here…,"

How could it be, when her body already edged its fast-approaching peak?

"I can see that you're out of breath, how you're struggling to fill your lungs with air… how your chest is moving fast, faster than ever. Do you know how I can almost feel the crazy pace of your heart?" he softly asked, though his breathing was turning exceedingly more ragged with every provocation. "I'm standing so close to it now, baby. It feels like my own skin is running with the aftershocks coming from your stomping heart. It's so unfortunate you're still wearing that shirt now. I can see your aroused nipples so clearly. They must be so hard…," he couldn't hide the regretful undertone, a reminder of the physical barriers which interfered with their ongoing dream. "Are they hurting you, sweetheart? Tell me."

"Please…," Bella mewled, impatient. "Just fucking touch me!"

"Oh Isabella…," he sighed with concern. "You can't stop thrashing around, we'll have to fix this."

His sudden silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the sharp wince disclosed by Edward's next words, "But you'll have to help me. My hand is busy with my cock right now. The sight of you like that was starting to be painful."

His admission rocked her body with a new wave of carnality, knowing now that she was affecting him just as much as he was her.

"But I still have to inspect you further. Raise your hand, baby. I want you to bring those fingers to your nipples now. Imagine they're my own as you rub against them…"

She led her hand to her bosom, exposing it to the chilling air, her ministrations guided by his labored breath and the image of him pleasuring himself.

"Yes, gently like that. Roll it between your thumb and forefinger. Oh god, so beautiful…," Edward hummed, intoxicated. "My fingers are getting wet with pre-cum as they slide around my cock, just because of you and how you're using my fingers to touch your breasts."

Bella wanted to contradict his words, because she could only feel the disappointing pressure of her own feeble fingers and she longed for his dominant strength.

"Ahhh… So good, Isabella. Please pinch them," he ordered, sobering up from his want. "I have to check how you're doing lower down," he assured, lightening up a neglected promise. "My mouth is open as I trail my tongue around your belly button, collecting the salty beads on your hot skin…"

She could practically feel the texture of his tongue down on her quivering belly.

Suddenly he growled, "But I'm starving now, Isabella! I want to nibble every part of your delectable body. Let me help you… Let me bite down on that other puckered nipple you're neglecting."

The rapid fire of his hungry words made her shallow breaths drown out her moans.

"How will it feel under my tongue? Yesssss! Hmmm… So tasty," his disembodied voice hinted nothing but certainty. "But I'll leave you to it now. I'm dying to see how wet you are. Open your legs."

Shameless, and just ready to feel more, she pushed her legs apart.

"Wider!" Edward gritted under his breath, and she thoughtlessly complied. "Oh baby, you're soaked! I can see how it seeped through your shorts," his words were a reverence, her body a sacrifice on the altar.

"Am I doing this to you? Are you this wet because of me? I must taste you then. But don't stop those fingers!" he warned when the meaning of his intent made Bella stutter on her manipulations. "Let my hands run up your legs, let me hold you by your thighs… so smooth…so precious."

His lustful proclamation seized her brain within the most profane of places, one she could no longer name her savior, thirsting only for its redeeming concession.

"Your arousal is so much stronger down here, it's making my mouth water in anticipation…,"

But his anticipation left her wanting for more, on the verge of something unnamable she couldn't quite touch yet, and she was already feeling the walls of their elaborated dream shattering with her breathless frustration.

"I'm now running my nose along your crotch, its humidity clinging to my skin, my mind suddenly drunk with its heady scent. I shift ever so slowly and find your slit–"

"Stop!" She shouted, afflicted with unrelievable lust. "Edward, please – I can't handle anymore!" Bella struggled with faltering air, and begged him, "I… I need to see you. It's too much… Oh god… Edward?"

But apart from her hard panting, the room was suddenly bathed in silence, without a trace of his teasing voice. She scrambled to get on her knees, her hands painfully gripping the sheets close to her racing heart. "Edward?" Bella called out again.

And then the door was unlocked. Then opened. And before Bella could stop gaping at the sight coming through the door, recognizing the handsome face almost instantly, he was already storming in, straight in her direction.

 **\- TR -**

Edward crossed the room with fiery speed, watching Isabella's shiny eyes widen, and just as she was about to blink them, he was already wrapping his hands around her waist and crashed his mouth into hers. Hungry tongues battled, wet sucking sounds escaping, begging to relieve them from their insurmountable thirst. Her hands flew up his torso, finding warm flesh and gripping his shirt for equilibrium while his fingers drew a path of their own to her hair, tugging slightly and exposing her neck to his ravenous kisses. He felt the blood pulsing in her veins as he nibbled his way up, while she tried to swallow air into her lungs, each heaving breath bringing her hard nipples closer to him.

"How long...?" she managed to ask.

His thoughts hazed with her intoxicating scent, Edward drew his mouth back and tried to slow down his breaths. He knew what she was asking. She wanted to understand how long he had been longing for her. How long had it been one-sided. He turned her face to his and met her gaze with one of his own, low-lidded and languid, hoping she could feel the pressing urge he felt to finally quench this yearning.

"Too fucking long," he whispered against her lips, and then one of them cleared the space in between, swallowing that burning need into a passionate kiss.

As their kisses escalated in intensity, soon their bodies started speaking for themselves, rekindling a passion so far only communicated by their daring, suggestive words thrown through those hindering walls. Hands pulled, grasped, clawed, and traced the contours of their straining bodies, building up a story which could never be erased. A breathy whine splintered the air across the room, Isabella's face tipping sideways, out of breath, out of coherence. She had never been as ready and willing as she was now within his embrace, submitting her body for his own pleasure, inviting him to take his claim. Edward relished in this invigorating momentum, letting his resolution restore itself into its primitive nature, willing him to stake out his possession.

Tugging on her ear with his teeth, he blew a whisper clad with promise, "This won't be gentle, baby."

Suddenly he pushed her body onto the mattress then stepped back, for a moment admiring the wild brunette and her hungry, brown eyes laid down in front of him, writhing with want and desperate for his touch. He smirked. Then pushed again.

"Take that shirt off. Now!"

He messed with Isabella's balance, slacking her propped elbows as he abruptly gripped both sides of the waistband of her shorts, pulling them down along with her panties. He paused long enough to take care of his own clothes, his eyes never leaving her as she struggled to pass her tank top above her head, arms stretched high above like a just-awakened sleeping beauty. His cock twitched, and he rushed to release it from his constricting pants.

Like a maestro, he made his hands guide her following instructions, as he finally climbed naked on the bed, silently ordering for her to rapidly move up. Her long legs pushed against the mattress to get her higher, exposing the glistening pink flesh of her luring pussy and turning him wild in his fast approach. Ferocious, he found his place between her creamy thighs, shaped his hands around her limbs, a soft inspection that soon turned into a frenzied search – fingers gliding over clammy skin, burning a hot trail along her arched body, making a path from top to bottom.

He was nothing but thorough in his task, testing the wet slick of her pussy which beckoned its warmth close to his cock, making a slippery mess with his fingers, as he dipped low and up and around, only to start the process again. His mouth watered as he effortlessly glided one, then two fingers in, meeting resistance within as Isabella tightened around him. A symphony of raspy moans and breathless mumbles leaving her lips, as Edward continued his sweet torture with fast pumps, slow circles and sudden pinches. And just as she was edging that most needed precipice, he withdrew entirely and without warning, making her rock her hips against nothing.

She was about to protest, struggling to push herself up, but before she could utter a single word, Edward was already cupping her ass and bringing her straight to him and sheathing his shaft inside her hole. What had been a cry of frustration, without preamble turned into a mighty cry of pleasure as Isabella's walls clenched tightly with an earth-shattering climax.

His eyes glazed over as he saw her fall apart, shuddering waves that brought him closer to his own release. But Edward quickly reined in on his urges, and started a new round of thrusts, harder than before, while her legs clamped around his own and enticed him closer to her.

Soon, the relentless pull from Isabella's legs made him fall down onto her, and Edward had to brace himself with a hand by her tangled hair, while her nails clawed his back, begging him to go faster, harder. He would love nothing more than to give her exactly that, but instead he stopped and retreated altogether.

Wild eyes instantly stared at him in plea, desperate for their reconnection, but Edward only offered her his censure by taking hold of both her hands into his stronger grip and making them hostages of his unyielding grasp above her head.

He dipped his mouth a whisper away from hers, a bite away from his gritted words, "You'll have to play nicer, Isabella. Or this won't go the way you'd like."

Her labored breaths clashed against him, holding back a quick retort as she swallowed down hard.

Snaking a hand in between them, Edward gently caressed one breast then suddenly pinched hard on her nipple, delirious with her answering whimper.

"You see that, Isabella?" He slightly set the weight from his lower half down over her, locking her legs and caging her totally within his power. "I'm the one in charge here," he whispered, finally biting down on her luscious, full lip.

"I'm the only one...," releasing it with a tortuous lick of his tongue, and then suddenly, his cock was angrily plunging inside her dripping wet slit again, turning her moans loose and unleashing his vow, "...in control!"

Unmerciful, Edward drove his cock deep inside her, with hard pumps that were squeezed by her pussy, trying to either hold him or provoke him further. He started building a punishing rhythm as his thrusts tried to deliver all the pent-up desire he felt for Isabella, slamming his hips into hers, purging out his longstanding, secret infatuation. He was so close to losing it already, he was barely holding it, but one look at her and his resolve suddenly shifted gears.

Her fervent eyes silently begged him to let her partake in his claim, to let her own this moment just much as him. Suddenly Edward was pulling Isabella by her shoulders and guiding her pussy into his lap. Burying his cock deeper than ever, he made her ride him with wild abandon, both of them lost in each other's eyes, arms holding tightly. When he felt her walls contracting with her fast-approaching orgasm, he gathered the slick wet of them and trailed it up to her clit, rubbing it with vigorous circles, leading her all the way to her release. The slack of her mouth as Isabella cried silently spiraled his own moment of completion, and Edward buried himself to the hilt, releasing his hot white seed inside her.

Glistening bodies clung to each other, still lost within their sated minds, too breathless to break the silence. Slowly, Isabella slid her nose up his neck, smiling from ear to ear.

"Does this mean we're done with the trial?" she asked.

Edward snorted against her shoulder. "Fuck yeah," he proclaimed.

"Good," Isabella murmured, raising her head to meet his green eyes. "Because I want to do that again. Soon."

Edward smiled back and pecked her lips. "You probably made me lose my job, baby. We'll have plenty of time for that and more."

 **THE END**

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